


other parasomnias

by stilesinwonderland (itsabravenewworld)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Movie Night, Sleepy Stiles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-22
Updated: 2015-02-22
Packaged: 2018-03-14 15:04:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,656
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3415223
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itsabravenewworld/pseuds/stilesinwonderland
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s a little bit of a thing, Stiles falling asleep at his house.</p><p>or the one where Stiles talks in his sleep and Derek is there to listen</p>
            </blockquote>





	other parasomnias

It’s a little bit of a  _thing,_ Stiles falling asleep at his house.

The first time was after a fight. It was two in the morning and Derek woke up to Stiles coming in on his own accord, shirt still torn and his lip bloody. “I don’t want to face my dad like this,” he’d said as explanation when Derek came downstairs in sweatpants, gesturing to the huge bruise blossoming on his cheek. His shoulders were slumped with exhaustion, and when Derek nodded and departed into the kitchen, he retreated immediately to the couch. Soon, before Derek could even come back with ice wrapped in a towel, he was fast asleep.

The most Derek could do then was throw a blanket over him and turn off the light, before heading upstairs, and when he woke up somewhere around ten, Stiles was gone again.

They never mention that time after that; it’s easier and less stressful on them both.

But he doesn’t stop showing up.

“I’m a senior, I don’t get why I have so much homework all the time,” Stiles complains when he lets himself in, throwing his backpack in front of the couch.

Derek rolls his eyes. “You’re in five AP classes.” He doesn’t ask why Stiles is here; it’s become normal at this point.  

With a scowl and narrowed eyes, Stiles points at him. “How dare you; you sound like my  _dad._ I’m eighteen now, I’m an  _adult_. _”_

When Derek shrugs, Stiles mutters under his breath that he’s not going to talk to him ever again. “What a dream,” Derek says quietly in response, and Stiles throws a wad of crumpled up paper at him.

“Be nice to Stiles, Derek,” Erica calls from upstairs and Derek yells at her to move out when Stiles yells in the affirmative.

He pulls out a book and puts his foot on the coffee table to get more comfortable as Stiles’s pencil scratches on paper. He’s sitting with his legs bent up, his book placed on his thighs as he writes with the paper inches from his face. It’s quiet, and peaceful, except for the interludes where Stiles taps his pencil down and his foot shakes.

Soon, Derek lifts his eyes from the book (he’d only read ten pages because of how  _distracting_ Stiles was being—not loud, necessarily, just distracting by being there) and finds Stiles slumped against his book, still in a seated position. Derek, sighing, turns him sideways so he’s laying down and places the book on his chest as Stiles mumbles sleepily at him. None of it is discernable, so he goes back to reading while Stiles naps, and tries not to make too much out of his sleepy words.

—

Stiles shows up at eight, a plastic grocery store bag in his hand. “Hey,” Stiles says.

Derek doesn’t respond verbally, but nods in greeting. He’s afraid that it may look like he’s just  _staring_ at him, but Stiles doesn’t seem put off by it at all.  

  
In fact, he lifts the bag with a grin, and says, “Scott and I were going to commandeer your movie-theater sized TV so I could make him watch Star Wars finally, but he ditched at the last minute to pick up a sudden shift at the vet’s. I don’t know if you’ve seen Star Wars, cause if you haven’t seen it, then I’m just going to make you watch it.”

“I have,” Derek says, voice coming out rough, because he was just napping. He pulls the door open, and Stiles steps inside.

“That’s okay. Then we can watch it.”

Derek leads the way to the living room and takes the box set from Stiles to pop the disc in as Stiles makes two bags of popcorn. He returns with a huge bowl ( _how had he known where the bowls are? He’s probably been here too much)_ and joins Derek on the couch, folding one leg under himself. “What’s your favorite one of these?”

“ _Revenge of the Sith_ ,” Derek says, deadpan, and Stiles throws popcorn at him.

“Never mind, not asking you any questions. Watch the movie, you heathen. Bask in the glory that is Harrison Ford.”

They make it halfway through  _A New Hope_  when Stiles complains about a crick in his neck and lays across the couch, sticking the bowl of popcorn in Derek’s lap so he can reach over his head to grab at it. He chews noisily and then comments on the effects being way ahead of their time. Derek just tries to stay still, and tilts the bowl when Stiles can’t reach it.

He gets up to change the discs, Stiles complaining about losing his headrest until he comes back. Derek then nods off somewhere in the middle of  _Return of the Jedi_ , his head leaning back against the cushion.

“Derek,” Stiles says, and Derek shakes himself awake from his half-conscious stupor. The movie isn’t over yet, so he must not have been out long, but Stiles is asleep too.

Derek cranes his neck downward; Stiles’s face is smashed against his thigh and his eyes are somewhat open. His breathing is too heavy though, his heart beat too slow for him to be awake. Mouth open the tiniest bit, Stiles licks at his lips. “What’s that?” Derek asks quietly, just in case.

“Mm, Derek,” he says,  _again._ “I like your house. You have a good couch for sleeping.” He clenches his hand into a fist, right by his mouth and something comes out that sounds suspiciously like a snore. His voice is nearly monotonous, and extremely quiet.

“Are you asleep right now?” Derek has to ask.

“No.” Stiles smacks his lips together and closes his eyes completely. Shakes his head. “Maybe. Possible. I don’t mean to  _sleep_  here.”

“Alright then,” he says, trying not to make too much out of the last part. Derek splays out a hand on Stiles’s shoulder. Slowly, Stiles sinks into the touch and doesn’t talk anymore for a while. Derek tries paying attention to the movie playing, but only makes out the vague sounds of guns and the way Stiles is breathing lightly onto his leg in little puffs.

“We need to get Scott,” Stiles suddenly says, more alert than before, but not awake yet.

“What? Why?”

Stiles’s eyes are closed so tight it looks like it hurts.Then he says in a burst, “The empire is being attacked! I need him for backup; we’ll take down the sith lord.” Derek stares for a long while, and rolls his eyes as he watches the movie.

“What do you want me to do?” he asks anyways, looking back down at him, trying to play along.

Stiles smiles the slightest bit. “You stand around and be grumpy. Like Han Solo or somethin’.”

He can’t help the huff of a laugh that escapes him. “Who does that make you, if I’m Han Solo? I thought he was your favorite.”

Stiles shifts in his sleep, curls up, but still lays a hand on Derek’s thigh. Derek traces a finger softly against Stiles’s hand without thinking, and then pulls it back. “Not Skywalker for sure. Probably Leia.”

“Yeah?”

But Stiles doesn’t answer, just snores again, and Derek looks around the dark room a couple of times, wondering what he should do.

—

“My neck is so sore all of the time,” Stiles says, rubbing at where his back meets his head. Derek looks from where he’s driving and rolls his eyes.

“You always sleep on my couch,” he points out. Stiles sticks his tongue out and taps along with the music. He’s always  _moving,_ Derek realizes, like he has something he should be doing and isn’t. It makes Derek feel uneasy sometimes, and others it relaxes him. He’s not sure which he feels right now.

“Maybe it’s because of these three a.m. stakeouts you’re always dragging me along to.” He lifts up his empty fast-food bag. “You’re lucky I’m easily bribable.”

Derek sighs, and Stiles grins cheekily in his direction. “I don’t mind.”

“Mind what?” Stiles says with the last bite of fries in his mouth.

“You staying at the house.”

“Oh.” He takes a sip of his soda. “Oh, yeah, thanks man. It’d be better for me not to be on the road when I’m exhausted anyways, right?”

Even though that’s not what he’d meant, Derek nods.

Stiles sleeps there again after they have a run-in with an actual  _ghost,_ and Stiles hums the _Ghostbusters_ theme in his sleep this time.

—

Derek doesn’t know how Stiles got in, but he wakes up slowly at two in the morning as the door creaks open. “Stiles?” he asks into the dark, even though he knows it’s him, can sense it. Stiles doesn’t say anything, and Derek can only hear him breathing. Stiles’s feet are padding against the hardwood floor as he gets close enough to see, and he’s actually in sleep clothes, a t-shirt and boxers. His eyes are glassy, and Derek turns on his bedside lamp to get a better look.

Stiles stares at the light, and then looks back to Derek. “What are you doing here?” Derek asks.

“Nothing really,” Stiles says. “Was on the couch; Erica let me in. Can I sleep here?”

Derek leans up on his elbows, the blanket slipping down his shoulders and to his waist. He ‘looks at the empty side of the bed, and then back to Stiles, who is slowly swaying on his feet, obviously still asleep. “Why?” he asks stupidly.

“More comfortable than the couch.” Stiles is already heading to the bed, crawling onto his knees and up until he’s at the pillow next to Derek’s head. Derek lays stock-still. Stiles relaxes and pulls the blanket over himself, breathing into the pillow. “G’night.”

After Stiles starts snoring, Derek lets himself say “Good night,” and rolls over to face the other way. He falls asleep fitfully, trying not to focus too much on Stiles being there.

He wakes up slowly, the sun in his face, bright behind his eyelids. His right arm is numb, and he stretches at his neck, trying to wake up. When his senses fully recover, he notices someone shifting against his side and he puts his face into the person’s hair, mind still muddled with sleep.

It all comes back after a few moments, and Derek opens his eyes in a flash. Stiles’s hand is clenched in his shirt and he is snoring into Derek’s chest. One of Stiles’s legs is in between both of Derek’s and his other arm is across his stomach. The blankets are bunched around their feet, and Derek’s numb arm is beneath Stiles’s body, supporting it.

Derek makes a nearly-silent and pained noise, the smell of Stiles and him overwhelming, and Stiles shifts in his sleep, blinks his eyes open. Slowly, he cranes his head up and Derek can see the gears turning in his head.

Derek isn’t expecting the reaction he gets. Stiles withdraws his arm and scoots back so fast that he nearly face-plants off of the bed, but then he  _does_ completely roll off onto the floor anyways with a grunt. “Oh my god,” he whispers, and Derek thinks he probably wasn’t meant to hear it. Then, Stiles’s head peeks over the edge of the bed, his hands by his face.

“Hi,” Derek says, gruff with sleep. He coughs to try and clear his throat, looks down at the sheets.   
  


“Hey there, you.” Stiles scratches at his head, confused, but doesn’t move from his crouch, only his eyes peeping up. “How did I get here?”

“You were sleepwalking again,” Derek says, trying to avoid this whole thing. He thinks he might pretend to fall asleep when Stiles makes a shocked noise. “Asked if you could sleep here.”

“Wait, wait a second.  _Again?_ ”

Derek swallows, looking at Stiles. “You do that. Sometimes.”

“Oh my god, I thought they were  _dreams._ ” Stiles stands up and looks down at himself, in his boxers. Derek doesn’t know what any of that means. That Stiles dreams about him?

With a shocked look, Stiles looks up again. “Hey. This is the most you’ve said to me at once.”

Derek scowls down at the sheets at that.

“I didn’t mean that in a bad way!” Stiles rushes to elaborate, swinging his hands back and forth. “I actually think it’s nice, when you’re not giving me attitude.”

“Right now you don’t deserve it,” Derek says on impulse, and it looks like Stiles’s eyes shutter off completely.  He laughs, and it’s biting to Derek’s ears, because it’s not  _right._ Too loud and not happy sounding at all.

“Well, now that I’ve completely embarrassed myself, I’m just going to,” Stiles points to the door, already halfway there, but watching Derek for a reaction, probably. All Derek can do is nod.

So Stiles leaves.

—

Derek doesn’t see him for a week or so, and he doesn’t try to push it. Stiles doesn’t show up to their weekly hour-long pack meeting, but Scott gives him dirty looks over the coffee table the entire time, so he knows the reason for his absence. Derek tries not to scowl too much at Stiles not being there, but he end up calling the meeting to an end twenty minutes early. That night, Derek finishes up  _Return of the Jedi_ , and Stiles doesn’t show.

But then, on a day lazy with heat, he shows up disheveled at Derek’s front door again. His forehead is sweaty (Derek knows his Jeep doesn’t have air conditioning, and the drive to his house is a long one), and his eyes are scanning side to side, in clear anxiety.

Derek, while surprised, feels the weight of the last week slipping off his shoulders just seeing him back here.

“I’m not asleep,” Stiles says right away, pushing past into the house and then facing him. “I just wanted you to know, because you might use any excuse to make this not—”

“I can tell you’re not asleep, Stiles,” Derek interrupts, mouth tilting up slightly. He leans against the wall, watching as Stiles twitches. “You’re talking too much.”

Stiles puts a palm against his chest. “Don’t smile at me like that; you never smile. It’s like a cruel distraction.”

“Sorry,” Derek says. He’s not even  _smiling._ Stiles slaps at his bicep anyways.

 _“Derek,”_ Stiles asserts. “I’m trying to say that I like you, and you’re ruining it by being not-grumpy.”

Derek stiffens up, looking at Stiles’s suddenly wide eyes, like he hadn’t planned to blurt that out. “What?” he says, voice cracking at the last second. His eyes keep flickering over Stiles’s face, still full of surprise.

“I— uh.” Stiles lifts his shoulders and sighs. “I  _like_ you. I end up sleeping here all the time. I can’t even sleep at Scott’s house. And it’s stupid, but I like you in a ‘I want to kiss your face’ way. In case that wasn’t clear.” That sounds like it means something, but Derek’s head is filled with “I like you, I  _like_ you.”

“I,” Derek tries to get out. Stiles blinks and his face morphs into a horrible expression of what looks like defeat. “I mean. Stiles—” Derek says, taking hold of Stiles’s bicep in a rush. Then he has a thought. “ _I know.”_

Stiles looks up with wide eyes. Derek levels him with a gaze, and after a few moments, Stiles breaks out into a grin. “I told you you were Han.”

“I let you sleep in my bed, you dumbass,” Derek says. He pulls Stiles in by the waist and kisses him. Stiles kisses like he does everything else, with a lot of enthusiasm, and he keeps hold of Derek’s cheek, scratching at his stubble. Derek, though he was the one to kiss him first, feels helpless other than to hold on.

Months later, Stiles mumbles “I love you,” against Derek’s chest as he sleeps, and that’s another thing he keeps to himself about Stiles’s dreams.

**Author's Note:**

> This was part of a 22 prompt event that I'm currently taking part in on my tumblr, and this one gained some popularity, so I thought I would post it here. The Ghostbusters thing is something I've done while in my sleep because I sleep-talk as well. I hope you liked it!


End file.
